


If You Leave Me Now

by imaginationtherapy



Series: Shameless [17]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Max DeBryn, Drowning, Emotions, Endeavour Morse Whump, Hurt Endeavour Morse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Near Death, Peter Jakes Didn't Leave Oxford, Winter, i'm back on my bullshit, middle-aged men in love, set between s7 and inspector morse, shameless series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23364970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginationtherapy/pseuds/imaginationtherapy
Summary: It's been ten years that the two of them have been together--ten years of fighting against the odds and each other, and somehow always coming out on top.Until now.Because as Jakes and DeBryn break out of the trees, Jakes can see those silver-streaked red curls are floating listlessly on top of a near-frozen lake. Morse is there, under the water, and Jakes knows-- with horrifying certainty--that ten years is all he gets.
Relationships: Peter Jakes/Endeavour Morse
Series: Shameless [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1340866
Comments: 18
Kudos: 55





	1. A Love Like Ours is Love That's Hard to Find

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, ho, hello. Tis me again, with yet another story.
> 
> First: I'm sorry that my writing is so sporadic right now. I know I have WIPs to do, and I promise I won't ever abandon stories for good. My mental and physical health is so wild right now that sometimes I just gotta write where the inspiration is or I'll go mad.
> 
> Second: Here's some nice h/c for all of us trapped inside. There will be many hugs, I promise.
> 
> Shameless Timeline: After _Glorious._

Ten years.

It’s the only coherent thought that runs through Jakes’ head as he stares at the picture the frightened young PC hands him.

Ten years of happiness. 

Is that all he is to be allowed? 

The picture shows two men, two faces Jakes knows so very well. One, he’d hoped to forget. The other-- _God_ he hoped to never lose.

Jakes had hoped to forget Quincy’s cruelty, his rage, the unhinged look in his eyes when they’d put him away, the promise of revenge he’d shouted at Jakes. But it’s Quincy, pressing a gun hard into the temple of the second man. He shouldn’t be surprised, Jakes had known to expect the man-- Quincy had left enough clues for Jakes to know he was being baited. The escaped con was playing some twisted revenge game, and Jakes was the target.

He had warned Morse, when this whole mess started, to keep an eye out. Jakes didn’t really expect Quincy to go after Morse--the man had always had a single minded purpose. But he had wanted Morse to be careful, to keep an eye out just in case. It wouldn’t hurt to be careful, he remembered telling Morse just the night prior.

They hadn’t been careful enough. 

Because the second man in that picture? The pale, limp figure with a thin trickle of blood down the side of his face?

It’s Morse.

* * *

_God, Morse. Don’t leave me, not now._

It’s the only conscious thought Jakes has as he stares at the picture. The clamour of the scene around him fades into the background, until he’s left alone with something from his nightmares. Men scuttle around, trying to piece together what happened to Quincy’s latest victim and where the madman has gone. Jakes doesn’t care--even though he _should_ care, _needs_ to care. He’s an inspector now, he has responsibilities--to his men, his job, these victims--but God, this is _Morse._

They’ve both made enemies, both received threats over the years, both found themselves at the wrong end of someone seeking revenge on the other. It’s an old game, and an old fear that gnaws at Jakes. But for all it’s familiarity, it never gets better.

Jakes is certain it only gets worse. 

The time that has flown past, the way they’ve had to fight against everything that has tried to keep them apart, it’s only brought them closer together. They’ve both settled into each other now, used to each other’s routines and habits, knowing when to give the other space or comfort instead. All that time has made them comfortable with each other, softened the rough bits that used to scrape raw against their skin, but it hasn’t lessened what they mean to each other.  
Fear still lights up Jakes when he gets a call from the station that starts with _DI Jakes? It’s Morse._ Something warm floods him whenever Morse stumbles through the door at night, falls into his arms, and he knows Morse is safe again for a few hours at least. The time _before_ has faded so far into Jakes’ memory that he’s not sure he could ever go back. Not sure he knows how to live without Morse’s prickly edges surrounding him, without his acerbic wit, without his ridiculous records and gentle hands and…

 _God, Morse._

Jakes shudders in the wind, but it’s not the late December chill that freezes him now, nor simple fear. Nothing so calm, so routine. It’s pure terror. It’s the feeling of life draining from him, of color bleeding from the world around him, of light dimming in the soul of the world.

Once, Jakes would have said that Morse stole his heart. But now, as he stares at the crumpled letter in his hands, he knows that it’s far worse than that. Morse _is_ his heart now--his heart and soul and everything good in his life.

And Quincy has all of that clutched in his blood-stained hands.

* * *

“I’m going with you.” DeBryn’s voice is calm and level, but it feels like a knife to Jakes’ back.

He whirls on DeBryn. “He won’t need a pathologist, _doctor.”_

Jakes regrets the words as soon as they are free, but he can’t take them back. DeBryn only means to help, and the offering can’t be any easier for him than the hearing of it is to Jakes. Max has been a good friend to them, someone who understands in ways that Thursday and George never could. 

DeBryn doesn’t even blink. He simply holds Jakes’ gaze with steely calm.

“No, I hope he won’t. But he’ll need a doctor.” The doctor nods toward the letter fluttering in Jakes’ hand. “And I doubt you intend on waiting for one of a more conventional variety.”

Jakes stares at the written note in his hand, full of threats and just enough information to go on. Quincy’s words aren’t specific, but Jakes can read between the lines. The bastard has left Morse somewhere out in this frigid weather, left him to freeze. Jakes can either follow Quincy’s trail, or save his bagman.

It’s that word that stops Jakes cold. _Bagman._

He had thought when he’d requested Morse as his right hand that he’d be able to keep the man safe. He thought with Morse next to him, under his direction, that he could be there to step between Morse and any danger. He knew Morse’s propensity towards danger. He knew how easily Morse managed to get into trouble. Certainly he could do a better job than most of making sure Morse came home safe and sound.

He’s failed. The proof is right in front of him.

And it isn’t because he missed something, sent Morse into danger without realizing it. It isn’t because Morse went off without letting anyone know where he would be. And-- _damn it_ \-- it isn’t because of what they are to each other.

Morse is in danger _because_ he’s Jakes’ bagman. Because Jakes thought he could do a better job than anyone else, he’s managed to throw Morse right into Quincy’s hands. He’s at risk of losing something he fought so hard to find, just because he wanted Morse that much closer to him.

Jakes shakes his head. No, he won’t wait. He can’t. They don’t have time. 

_Morse_ doesn’t have time. 

He hands the picture and the letter off to Sergeant Reddick. “Get McNutt in here, and call Thursday.” He eyes DeBryn. “You sure you want to do this, doctor?”

DeBryn stares at him with that same dry expression. “You’ll need help.” It’s a simple statement, yet somehow Jakes feels stronger for the constancy of DeBryn. The man never changes, and Jakes finds him a solid foothold in the chaos of the present.

He nods. “Let’s go.”

* * *

The reality of what he stands to lose doesn’t fully sink in until Jakes and DeBryn stumble out of the car. 

It’s the cold that does it. 

It’s freezing out. Far too cold for someone to be out here for any length of time--but God only knows what Quincy’s done to Morse. And then there’s the water. The note made it clear he’d left Morse in the lake. Jakes could only hope that he’d left Morse with some way to _breathe_. 

But the thought of Morse--injured, freezing and soaking wet--it steals the breath from Jakes’ lungs. 

Jakes staggers to a stop, eyes fixed on the desolate, snow-dusted landscape. Morse is out there, somewhere. Morse. _His Morse._

He knows he should be grateful. Ten years is a long time for men like them--a long time to hide, to be accepted, to have each other. This love they have, it’s so hard to find--but somehow they found it, they found _each other._ To have _ten years--_ to have a home to call their own, to have the reputations they have--it’s unthinkable what they’ve managed to eek out.

But Jakes wants more. He’s never been one to simply _settle_ and _damn it--_ he wants more than ten years. He wants to watch as Morse’s hair goes from cinnamon and sugar to steel grey. He wants to lord his own dark hair over Morse--even though they both know it's not entirely natural anymore. He wants to watch Morse grow old, wants to watch his laugh lines to grow and deepen. He wants to grow old _with_ Morse. 

But this--this right here, right now-- this could be where it ends. This God-forsaken piece of property--Quincy’s inheritance, gone to waste after he was put away--could be where Jakes loses the best part of who he is.

He can feel himself starting to panic, can feel his breath coming faster than it should. He needs to focus, needs to stay on target, needs to find Morse. But he can’t think, can’t get past the fear that _ten years_ is all he gets. He didn’t even get to say goodbye this morning--Morse was off early to pursue some rubbish lead. The last image he has of Morse in his head is dark and hazy from the early-morning light in their room. The longer he stands there, the more the image fades, the more Morse’s face pales and grows listless--lifeless-- _gone, what if he’s already gone, what if I--_

_Crack._

Something cold and unforgiving connects with the side of Jakes’ face. He staggers backwards, trying to shake off the shock and prodding at the spot with shaking fingers. He sucks in a breath and stares at DeBryn in disbelief.

Had the man actually _slapped_ him?

The doctor is glaring up at him, the fury in his eyes making him seem to suddenly tower over Jakes.

“Snap out of it, _Inspector,”_ DeBryn snarls. “This panic won’t do him any good. You’re a police officer. Act like it.” There’s something low and dangerous in his voice, a measured threat that seems so different from his usual mild-mannered exterior. “I’m not sure what your intentions are, but I would rather not have him laid out on my table just because you couldn’t handle yourself. ”

The image fills Jakes with dread---a cold, sickly feeling that freezes every bit of him that it touches. _Morse, on the mortuary table._ Laid out, too pale and still, abandoned and unloved. DeBryn standing with a knife poised over that pale chest. It’s a scene from his nightmares, one he’s seen so many times in the past ten years--no, more than that. He was in love with Morse from the first, though he’d never admitted it.

For all the times he’s had that dream, Jakes still hasn’t figured out where he would stand. God, he doesn’t want to find out. Will they ask him to identify the body, as the closest thing that Morse had to family? Half the CID knows by now, it’s barely a secret after all this time. Or will they make him attend the autopsy as just another officer, make him watch and listen to DeBryn as he explains how Morse had died--how the cold water had frozen him slowly before drowning him entirely? How he would have _known_ what was happening? How he would have been afraid, exhausted, unable to fight as the cold pulled him down...

Jakes feels himself shaking again, feels his breath coming faster and faster and colder and colder and he can’t think, he can’t feel, he can’t do this without Morse, he can’t--

_Crack! Crack!_

“Pull yourself together, Jakes!” DeBryn’s voice is as sharp as his scalpels and cold as the steel in his morgue. “We don’t have time for this. _He_ doesn’t have time.”

 _Time._ They should have more time together. More than just this.

Please. More than this.

Jakes feels DeBryn’s hands curl into his jacket, feels the man shake him roughly.

 _“Peter.”_ Jakes focuses on the worried face inches in front of him. DeBryn’s face is twisted with frustration and anger. But his eyes are full of fear.

It’s that fear that sobers Jakes, chasing the edge of panic back. DeBryn is rarely afraid-- he never backs down from fights or violence or bodies. But there’s fear in his eyes--real, honest fear -- and Jakes is wasting time.

Jakes nods once. “Max.” He sucks in a deep breath, feeling the cold bite into his lungs again. Morse is out there in this frigid air. 

_God._

“Max. I’m sorry.”

DeBryn shakes his head. “Save it.” Any other time, the frustration in DeBryn’s voice would make Jakes strike out. Not now. He deserves this, and thank God DeBryn had the nerve to slap sense back into him. “Where did Quincy say he would leave him?”

* * *

They come out of the trees, into the clearing that holds the lake, and Jakes’ heart shatters. 

They’re at the wrong end. 

Morse is there, on the opposite side-- _too far away._

At least, Jakes is almost certain it’s Morse. That thatch of red-brown hair--streaked with a few hints of grey-- can’t belong to anyone else. That’s all he can see, those curls that he loves so much, because the rest of Morse is submerged beneath the water. 

Even his face.

Jakes lurches to the side as the ground drops away from him.

They’re too late. 

Ten years, and it all ends right here. 

_They’re too late._

Jakes hears himself scream, hears himself crying out for Morse.

_No, God no. Don’t leave me, not like this._

He stumbles forward, hands outstretched, as if maybe he can reach Morse, pull him from the water, bring him back, stretch these ten years into twenty or thirty, until they are able to say _till death do us part._

_God. No. Endeavour!_

A warm hand catches him, pulls him up. Jakes knows it's DeBryn, but he doesn’t care. Until DeBryn speaks.

“Look,” he hisses.

Jakes follows DeBryn’s trembling hand.

Hope and horror crash into him at once.

 _Hope--_ Morse has lifted his head up out of the water--Jakes can just make out his pale face as he takes a shuddering breath of air. 

_Horror--_ in the next second Morse’s head falls back down and suddenly Jakes _knows_. That bastard has pinned him beneath the water somehow, giving him just enough room to find air--if he has the strength. And from the time Quincy gave them, and the way Morse lies there so still now, Jakes knows he’s almost gone.

He’s running before his mind even registers that he has to move.

 _“Morse!”_ Jakes shouts his name, over and over, as he pounds across the frozen ground. “Morse-- _please!_ Dev, hang on!”

DeBryn is just behind him, shouting loudly as well. They have to make him hear, have to let him know their coming, have to give him _hope._

Jakes begs Morse to raise his head again, prays that he can hear them, that he has the strength for just a few more breaths. 

But Morse doesn’t move again. 

Jakes can feel the tears coursing down his face, some of them nearly freezing as cold wind buffets him. It feels as though part of him is trapped in that water with Morse, as though part of him is dying--may be dead already. He knows he’s screaming, he can hear his own voice and feel the raw burn in his throat. 

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

He only knows that he has to scream, has to call out, _has to make it through to Morse._

_Please, don’t let him slip away._

_Just one more breath._ It’s all he needs, all he asks for--just this.

Jakes remembers hearing how a dying man sees his life flash before his eyes. He’s even had it happen a few times. But he never expected the images and memories that besiege him now. Memories of _their_ life--the one they’d managed to carve out _together,_ against all the odds. Memories of Morse’s smile, of the inexplicably tender way he could hold Jakes in the night, of the soft press of his body up against Jakes when the only thing they had to do of a day was simply _lie there._

Jakes stumbles and then picks himself up. It feels as if he’s running through molasses--the memories congealing around him as they bleed out. The cold air pierces Jakes’ lungs like knives, and he curses the fact that he’s not nearly as young as he used to be.

Neither is Morse.

The thought chills him. The time they have isn’t nearly enough, but it’s taken its toll on both of them. They’re nowhere near old, but neither of them has the resiliency they once had. Morse’s hip bothers him more now, and Jakes hands ache when it rains.

Jakes screams Morse’s name again, begging him to look up. 

God, if he would only look up. 

Somehow, someway, he makes it. He hears DeBryn just behind him, wonders at how either of them managed to run like that.

Jakes splashes into the water without even thinking. It's cold-- _God, it’s cold_ \--but he barely feels it. Fear for Morse consumes him, eclipsing even his hatred for Quincy.

The bastard has tied Morse up in water that barely comes to Jakes’ thighs. He’s wrapped rope around and around Morse, fastening him to the stump of an old tree, keeping him kneeling on the soft mud and leaving him barely an inch of space below his mouth. How Morse held on this long, Jakes doesn’t know. He only knows that the man isn’t moving now--he’s not fighting or breathing or _anything_.

“No! No, no, no, no, _no!”_ Jakes curses, sawing roughly at the ropes that hold Morse. “Hang on, Morse, please. Oh, God, _don’t leave me._ ” 

This can’t be it, this can’t be how he loses the one thing that matters to him. Not here, not in this lake. _Please no._

It seems to take forever--his fingers have nearly gone numb-- but the ropes finally fall away. DeBryn pulls Morse from the water and Jakes scrambles out after him.

Jakes falls heavily to his knees beside Morse’s still body and reaches out a trembling hand. He can’t hold back a sob as his hand makes contact with Morse.

Morse is ice cold, his skin pale and nearly translucent. Jakes can make out the horrifyingly beautiful network of veins just beneath that glassy surface--veins he’s never seen when Morse is healthy. Wet hair curls around Morse’s face, appearing as a faded almost-crimson tangle against the porcelain of Morse’s forehead. 

His fingers trace a shaky path up Morse’s unmoving chest, coming to rest right where he should be able to feel a heartbeat. There is _nothing_ \--nothing but an unnatural stillness that chills Jakes far more than the frigid air that envelops them. 

_“No. Endeavour--no!”_

He can’t breathe. He can’t _breathe._ Oh _God, no._ This wasn’t supposed to happen, not like this. Not now. They were supposed to be in time, they were supposed to be able to _save_ him.

DeBryn curses--a loud, irreverent word that sounds so strange coming from one so normally reserved. His hands--warm and steady--push Jakes’ out of the way.

“Breathe for him, man. Come on!” 

It takes Jakes a second--a second that they most certainly don’t have to spare--before he catches on, clocks DeBryn’s compressions, understands the meaning of his words. He tries to move, tries to get his fingers to do his bidding, but his mind stalls for another precious second on the sight of the doctor’s hands forcing Morse’s heart to beat. 

It’s not right. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. Morse isn’t supposed to be this icy, tragically beautiful _body_ lying here in the snow. He’s not supposed to be a corpse. He’s not supposed to be the one CID comes out to see. He’s supposed to be warm and alive--doling out cutting remarks and finding a way to squeeze Jakes’ hand when no one is looking.

DeBryn snarls at him, and Jakes’ body finally obeys him. His fingers skate over Morse’s face-- over skin so frozen it feels like marble. One thumb lingers for just a moment on Morse’s blue lips, and Jakes’ tries to keep the memories at bay--memories of all the time’s he’s done this, when those lips were red and warm and waiting for him.

He doesn’t have time for the memories now. _Morse_ doesn’t have time.

They don’t have _years_ right now--only seconds. 

Jakes seals his lips to Morse’s, breathes air into his unresponsive lungs, _prays_ for a response. 

Again and again and again, Jakes breathes. It’s a desperate plea that he repeats with each breath-- _please, Dev, please._ When he pauses--when DeBryn’s hands work once again, he murmurs the words against Morse’s skin.

“Please, Morse, breathe for us. Goddamn it, don’t do this, don’t leave me.” 

Morse doesn’t respond, and Jakes finds himself shouting.

_“Breath! Dammit, Endeavour, breathe!”_

Jakes doesn’t want to be left alone. He can’t do this on his own, not now, not after all that Morse has come to mean to him. 

Dread seeps into his soul as seconds pass. A horrifying numbness follows and he _knows._

Morse is gone.

Jakes can see it on DeBryn’s face, can see it in the set of his shoulders as he slouches over Morse.

 _No use,_ says the slight shake of DeBryn’s head.

_Gone._

Jakes groans and folds himself over Morse.

_“Please, Dev...please, no.”_

There’s no response, and Jakes knows that he is alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let it be known that this story is due to a six word, half-baked prompt that guardianoffun sent me one night. How in the _hell_ it grew to this is anyone's guess.
> 
> Story & chapter titles based on [ If You Leave Me Now ](https://youtu.be/-9_d-sFhmRM) by Chicago. I had a lot of fun with this story, with the middle-aged men still in love concept. Many thanks to guardianoffun for helping me bridge Morse's character between Endeavour and Inspector Morse.
> 
> I'd love to hear from you! I apologize in advance if I don't reply--my brain sometimes forgets to add "reply to comments" to its to-do list--but know that I see your comment, smile madly at it, and probably re-read it thrice over.


	2. Baby, Please Don't Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some gratuitous feelings!

Everything is cold and still and  _ dead:  _ the trees and the grass, the creatures that lived in the pond, Jakes’ very soul. 

How can he be alive, when all that he loved is  _ dead-- _ lying in a cold, shallow snow-grave?

He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to look at DeBryn. Maybe the man will leave him here, leave him with Morse, leave them to be together.

Jakes knows he’s crying, but he can’t seem to feel his own body shaking.

Then suddenly Morse convulses under him. 

Jakes shoves himself upwards, hands coming to catch at Morse’s shoulders. 

Morse coughs, retches and then  _ breathes. _

The next moments are lost in a blur of hope and fear and trying to get all of the water out of Morse’s system. DeBryn’s hands are everywhere at once, helping Jakes to hold Morse up, helping Morse to purge the frigid lake from his lungs.

When the coughing subsides, Morse is conscious, but just barely. His eyelids flutter open and one hand curls weakly into Jakes’ shirt. It’s the smallest spark of life, but for Jakes, it’s enough.

Jakes sobs out a grateful  _ thank you _ and pulls Morse to his chest. Everything falls away for a moment--everything except the shallow movement of Morse’s chest and the feel of his sluggish pulse against Jakes’ skin. He presses his lips to Morse’s damp hair, murmuring Morse’s name over and over, interspersed with  _ thank God _ and  _ you came back. _ He’s shaking with fear and with his own chilled skin, but none of that matters. He’s just grateful for the fact that Morse is  _ breathing. _

Then Morse whimpers, and Jakes can hear fear in his voice.

“It’s alright, Morse. It’s me, it’s Peter.” Jakes winds his hands around Morse, rubbing his back as Morse leans into his warmth. “I’ve got you, Dev. I’ve got you.” Jakes lips ghost over the damp hair by Morse’s ear. “You’re safe, alright? You’re safe, I have you.”

Morse curls closer to Jakes, and Jakes realizes that Morse isn’t shivering.

He’s as cold as death.

Fear washes over Jakes as he realizes that they may have gotten Morse back--but he’s barely hanging on.

Then DeBryn is at his side again, orders sliding off his tongue like the water that drips from Morse. Jakes can barely process what the man is saying over the pounding of his own heart.

_ Clothes...too cold...undress...blankets. _

“Max, he’s freezing!” Jakes clutches Morse closer to him, trying to share his body heat.

“And those clothes are sapping what little warmth he has left!” DeBryn’s voice is brittle and ragged. “Get them off him.  _ Now.” _

Jakes wants to swear at the man, wants to argue with him, wants to do anything  _ but _ push Morse away from him. But DeBryn is a physician first, pathologist second, and Jakes has to trust that he knows what he’s talking about. 

It’s Morse’s only chance. 

Gently, Jakes starts to untangle Morse from how he’s curled himself around Jakes’ body.

Morse lets out a low wail and clings feebly to Jakes. “No, please! Don’t...don’t put...me back.”

For a moment Jakes can’t think past the implication of his words _. _ “No, Morse--Dev, you’re safe. It’s me, okay? Can you...can you look at me?” He tries to hook his fingers under Morse’s chin, tries to draw his face upwards, but Morse only lets out a panicked moan and shakes his head.

“No, no, no, no--please, please no. Cold...I’m so cold...please...don’t…” He’s delirious, Jakes realizes with horror, lost in some in-between space that Jakes can’t quite reach. 

Morse starts to fight, and Jakes’ can feel his pulse speeding up.

He needs to get him calm before he goes into shock.

“Morse! Dev--Morse, dammit,  _ Endeavour!” _

It works, just like it always does. He’s the only one Morse has allowed to use that name in years. 

Morse stills, then peers up at Jakes.

_ “Peter?”  _ His whisper is fearful and desperate.

“It’s me, Dev.” Jakes strokes a hand along Morse’s face. “It’s me.”

Morse’s glassy eyes widen. “You...came?” 

“Of course I did.” Jakes swallows past the pain that shocked whisper brings him. “I’m right here. I need to...Dev, I need to get you out of these clothes, okay? Can I just--” Jakes tries to extricate himself, but Morse cries out again.

“No! No, don’t let go! Don’t...don’t put me back, Peter--please!” 

Jakes curses. He’s lost him again--lost him to the cold and the adrenaline. He’s no doctor, but he knows they don’t have much time.

“DeBryn!” Jakes glances up to where DeBryn has unfurled the two blankets they brought. “Max, I can’t--”

“Dammit, Jakes!” The doctor spins, eyes flashing dangerously. “We don’t have time--”

“Max!” Jakes shout makes Morse cower further. “Max, he’s terrified. I can’t get through to him, can’t get him off me. I need your help. Please.”

DeBryn’s face softens as he glances down and sees that it is indeed Morse’s own fear that’s stopping Jakes. He curses again, but drops to his knees.

Morse whimpers when DeBryn reaches out to him, and Jakes has to shush him as if he were a child. That, more than anything, stokes the fear in Jakes’ soul. He’s never seen Morse like this before--this frightened and weak and combative. He’s fading, and there’s nothing Jakes can do to pull him back.

Somehow they get him undressed--DeBryn’s steady hands making quick work of buttons and belts while Jakes tries to keep Morse calm. Once Morse is stripped, DeBryn wraps him in the blankets--drapes them over his back and lets Jakes tuck them in as best he can.

Morse still won’t look up at DeBryn, won’t even respond except to cling even tighter to Jakes.

DeBryn pauses for just a second, one hand on Jakes’ shoulder. Jakes glances up at him, afraid of what he has to say.

“He recognizes you, Peter. He knows you’re safe.” His voice is gentle. “Hold to that, alright?” Jakes nods, trying to accept this--the only shred of comfort he has right now. “We’ve got to move. Can you stand?”

With DeBryn’s support, he manages to stand and not lose hold of Morse. Then they’re moving again, hurrying as fast as they can towards the car. 

“Keep talking to him,” DeBryn commands. He tucks one corner of the blanket over Morse’s head. “He needs to stay awake. If he drifts off...”

He doesn’t have to finish that sentence. Jake's knows.

If Morse falls asleep, they might not get another chance. 

Jakes has no idea what he says on that long walk to the car. He just knows that he doesn’t stop talking, his fingers don’t stop meandering over Morse’s face. He doesn’t stop soothing Morse, calling out to him, begging him to hang on.

_ More time. _ He needs more time.

* * *

The harsh sound of an engine startling brings Jakes out of the no-man’s-land he’s been stuck in with Morse. Somehow, they’ve made it to the car. DeBryn must have hurried a few steps ahead of them, as he’s got the car running now, back door open for Morse.

“Keep him awake,” DeBryn snaps. They bundle Morse into the back seat--somehow disentangling him from Jakes’ arms-- and Jakes curls himself around Morse. “Don’t let him lose consciousness, or we’ll lose him. You may have to restart compressions.”

Jakes nods, though he doesn’t really hear. 

DeBryn wraps the blankets around the two of them--trapping Morse in a cocoon of Jakes’ body heat-- and then he’s gone. Jakes feels the car lurch forward, but his focus is locked on the blue lips and pale face just inches from his own.

Morse is staring at Jakes, his eyes nearly the same steel grey as the clouds outside. His lips move, over and over again, and it takes a few tries before Jakes can make out the barely-there whisper.

_ “Peter.”  _

Jakes wraps his hands around Morse’s face. “I’m here, love. I’m right here.”

Morse’s lips quirk into a ghostly smile, and his eyes drift shut.

“Morse, no-- _ Morse!” _ He’s louder than he means to be in his fear, but Morse blinks back to life. “Dev, please, please, love. You have...you have to stay awake for me.” Jakes presses his forehead to Morse’s, trying to give him some of his own body heat, some of his own lifeblood. “Please, please stay awake. Please don’t go.”

Morse keens, leaning into the heat that Jakes has to offer. “Tired,” is all he manages to murmur.

Jakes chokes back a sob. He would be, after all that he’s been through. He’s so much closer to death than life, his body trying desperately to keep going despite its exhaustion, despite its dangerously low temperature, despite the bloody gash on his forehead.

“I know, my love, I know.” Jakes fingers comb into Morse’s hair, track down his face, curl around the back of his head--desperate, searching, needy. He’s afraid if he stops moving, Morse will fall asleep. “I’m so sorry, Dev. But please. You have to...you have to stay awake. Just...just a little while longer.  _ Please.” _

Burning cold fingers wrap around Jakes’ wrist, and he almost jumps back in surprise. Morse’s eyes are wider, focused in on him. One hand has snuck out from where he’d tucked it against Jakes' chest and it’s latched on to Jakes’ wrist.

“Peter.” That ghostly whisper is back. “You’re...crying.”

Jakes tries to laugh, nearly chokes on his own tears instead. He nods, watching as his tears drop onto Morse’s face. At least they’re warm, warmer than Morse is.

Confusion flickers across Morse’s face--he looks like he does when faced with a complicated crossword clue. Jakes almost cries out at that--at the thought that he might never see Morse curled over a crossword again.

“Why?”

Jakes’ own eyes squeeze shut. He presses himself into Morse, bends over him, tries to warm him. 

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers, lips brushing against Morse’s cheeks. “I can’t...I almost did. I might still. I can’t, Dev, I  _ can’t.  _ Not after all this time. Not...I can’t lose you. _ ” _

He kisses Morse then. It’s desperate and ungraceful, but he needs to feel Morse under him, needs to let Morse know  _ how much he needs him. _ Morse arches up ever so slightly, chasing Jakes’ warmth, kissing back weakly. It's nowhere near a  _ good _ kiss, but it's everything Jakes wants.

_ “Please.” _ He breathes the word into Morse. “Please hang on for me.” His lips brush Morse’s once again. “A little while longer, Morse. Just...just hang in there.” His fingers move again, nervously covering every inch of Morse’s face. “Just a little longer, my love. Just a little longer.”

Morse’s fingers tighten on his wrist, so Jakes pulls back far enough to see him properly. There’s a sort of drunken understanding in Morse’s eyes, and it makes Jakes dizzy.

_ He knows. _ He knows what happens if he nods off.

“You understand?” 

Morse gives a sharp, small nod. His expression glazes over, his eyelids droop, and then he twitches back awake. He grips Jakes tighter.

“Keep...talking.” The words cost him, Jakes can see, but he’s given Jakes the key.

“Okay, Dev, alright.” Jakes smooths his thumb over Morse’s eyebrow.  _ Keep talking, keep moving, keep him focused.  _ “I’m right here. I’m not going...I won’t leave you. I promise. Just please,  _ please _ try. I know…” He shakes his head. He’s too muddled, too frightened himself to be coherent, so he ducks back down, presses his lips to Morse’s forehead. “You can rest soon. I’ll hold you...until you’re warm again. I promise.” 

He doesn’t know if they’ll let him, but it doesn’t matter. Words, that’s what Morse needs. An anchor, something to keep him from drifting into the darkness of death. 

“Just hang in there. Max...Max is here. He’s getting us to...to safety, okay?”

Jakes feels Morse nod underneath him, feels the grip that Morse has on his wrist. It hurts--somehow stronger than Morse has any reason to be-- but there’s no way he’s asking Morse to let go. There’s a steely look in his eyes as Jakes pulls back, and his jaw is clenched tight.  _ He’s trying. _

“I’m...tired. Peter.” Jakes’ realizes with horror that Morse is  _ crying _ \--tears spilling slowly from his eyes. “I can’t...I’m trying.”

“I know, Dev, God, I know.” Jakes can’t stop his own sobs, doesn’t really care. “Please, don’t leave me. Please. I need you.” He bends low over Morse. “God, I need you so badly.”

“He said...you wouldn’t...come.” The words come out as barely a sigh, but Jakes feels them slice into his heart all the same.

_ Quincy. _

“Dev.” Jakes clutches at Morse, curls his fingers into Morse’s hair. “Dev, tell me you didn’t believe him.  _ Please.” _

Every step of the last ten years had been a fight with Morse’s mind. Even after Jakes had asked him...asked Morse to stay with him  _ forever, _ he would catch Morse doubting. As of late, he’d seem to only need reassurance when in the depths of a dark case--exhaustion and overwork seemed to leave Morse hollow and lonely.

Morse leaned into Jakes touch, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. “Told him...you’d come.” His eyes met Jakes’. “Knew you wouldn’t...leave me there.”

Jakes hears himself sob, doesn’t care.  _ Thank God. _ He kisses Morse again, gently, just enough to say  _ you were right. _

“I tried,” Morse gasps. He pins Jakes with his eyes, as if he’s  _ willing _ Jakes to hear the barely-there whispers that pass his lips. “To hang on. He said…he said I couldn’t.”

Morse breaks off, gasping for air, and Jakes smooths a hand over his damp hair.

“Shhh, Morse. Don’t...don’t talk anymore. You--just breathe, Morse. Just breathe for me.”

Morse’s head rocks to the side-- _ no. _ “Have to...tell you.” His fingers are still wrapped around Jakes’ wrist, their grip weakening, but still  _ there. _ “He said...I couldn’t...stay. I tried.” He’s crying again, and Jakes wipes gently at the falling tears. “Said...you’d cry. I didn’t...want you to.” Another rasping breath, and Jakes shudders at the rattle in Morse’s throat. “‘m sorry.”

_ “No.” _ Jakes seals his lips to Morse’s, swallowing that  _ stupid _ apology, praying that Morse will hang on. “Don’t.” He pulls back, traces his hands over Morse’s skin again. “You’re right here. You made it. You...you’re still here. Just...please. Just a little longer. I know...I know you’re tired. Just…” He closes his eyes, feels tears spilling down his cheeks again.

“‘t’s easier…” Morse slurs. Jakes blinks his eyes open, finds Morse smiling almost drunkenly up at him. “‘th you here. T’ stay…’wake.” He breathes in again, and Jakes can tell it’s hurting him. “Love you…Peter.”

Jakes laughs through his tears. He can’t stop it, not at the way Morse is looking at him, like some lovesick teenager. 

“I love you, Dev. So much. You can’t... _ oh Dev.” _ He pulls Morse to him, holds him close.

“Pe’er?” Morse’s words are shorter, coming between rapid and ragged breaths. 

He can’t hold on much longer. Jakes can feel his heartbeat weakening, even as he struggles to breathe.

“I’m here.” Jakes glances to the front of the car, meets DeBryn’s eyes.

“Pe’er...I’m tired.”

Jakes closes his eyes, presses his face to Morse’s hair. “Just a little longer, love. Just...hang on just a little bit longer.  _ Please.” _

Morse whimpers, tries to curl into Jakes. “Pe’er. I don’...don’ want t’go.”

_ “No,”  _ Jakes hisses. “No. You’re...you’re not leaving me. Not now. Look at me-- _ Endeavour.” _

Morse peers up at him, his gaze unfocused.

“Ten years. We’ve had  _ ten years. _ I’m not letting you go now.” Jakes cradles Morse’s head in his hands. “We’ve survived so much, Dev. Blenheim Vale, Jago, the Matthews’...” Jakes shakes his head. “I’m not letting someone like Quincy take you from me. Please, Dev.”

Morse swallows and Jakes can see him fighting. But it’s not enough. It can’t be enough. Morse is fading, right in front of Jakes’ eyes, and there’s  _ nothing _ he can do about it.

He’s going to lose him a second time.

And this time, Jakes knows he won’t get him back.

_ “Please, Endeavour. Please--” _

DeBryn’s voice breaks through Jakes’ terror, interrupts his plea.

“Get him out. We’re here.”

Jakes gasps in relief. He leans forward, presses his lips to Morse’s. Morse responds--slowly, weakly, but  _ he responds. _

“We made it. Just...just a few more minutes, Dev. Please.”

Morse nods, and Jakes feels his fingers curl around Jakes’ wrist. “Anything...for you...Peter.”

Jakes kisses him again, and then DeBryn is at the door.

* * *

DeBryn has to pull him off of Morse once they get Morse out of the car. The medics meet them at the door, load Morse onto a stretcher, and then they tell Jakes he has to stay behind. They push him back, pulling Morse away from him.

It’s too much, the low wail that Morse lets out when Jakes’ fingers leave him, and Jakes launches himself back towards Morse. He’s still crying, unable to see anything other than the fear on Morse’s pale face. 

Morse is afraid. He’s afraid and he’s dying and he’s confused and  _ why can’t they see that I need to be with him? _

Jakes’ doesn’t realize that he’s screaming it all out loud until DeBryn shouts at him, pulling him back with a strength that Jakes didn’t know he possessed.

“You have to let them take him, Inspector!” DeBryn forces himself between Jakes and the retreating crowd of medics. “He won’t make it without them.” His tone softens, hands lowering as Jakes stares in horror at the swinging doors through which Morse has disappeared. “You did well, Jakes. You did well. You gave him a chance, you got him here. Let them do the rest.”

Jakes stares down at his hands, then back up at DeBryn.

“Max.” His voice is raw and broken. “Max...he almost...Max, I almost--”

“But you didn’t,” DeBryn responds firmly. He runs his eyes over Jakes. “Let’s get you inside, Inspector.”

Jakes can’t move. It’s as if his body got him this far--made him keep going long enough to get Morse to safety, and now it doesn't know what to do.

“Peter.” DeBryn’s voice is softer this time. He lays one hand on Jakes’ shoulder. “You’ve got a touch of shock, and a chill. We need to get you warmed up.”

When Jakes doesn’t move, DeBryn comes to stand in front of him.

“They’re going to help him, Peter. And when they do, when he’s awake and coherent again, you need to be there, hmm?” 

Jakes finally looks up at him. He nods slowly.

DeBryn smiles. “Right. Let’s find you a place to warm up then.”

* * *

He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting there, slumped in that uncomfortable waiting room chair and wrapped in three layers of blankets. Every second that he doesn’t  _ know _ feels like an hour. DeBryn isn’t there anymore, and Jakes can’t remember if he said anything or just  _ left. _ He’s not sure that he cares. Then there’s something warm pressed into his hand, and Jakes stares down into a steaming mug-- _ mug?-- _ of tea.

“I know where to find  _ proper _ tea.” DeBryn sits down into the chair next to him. “Drink it, Inspector. You need it.”

Jakes takes an absent sip, grimacing a bit at the sweetness.

“For shock,” DeBryn murmures. He’s silent for a moment, and Jakes can feel him thinking. “Jakes. About what happened out there.” He pauses, fiddling with his tie. “I may have acted...harsh. I should--”

_ “Don’t.” _ Jakes shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.” He scrubs a hand over his face, curls his fingers into his hair. “I lost my head. I didn’t… _ Christ.” _ He has to pause, press a hand to his eyes and try to stop the tears that are threatening to fall. “We almost lost him.”

“We got to him in time.” DeBryn’s voice is still gentle, and something in it riles Jakes.

“No bloody thanks to me!” He whirls on DeBryn, nearly sloshing his tea everywhere. “Dammit, Max--I’m his  _ governor. _ I’m supposed to protect him, not get him thrown in a bloody lake.”

DeBryn doesn’t even flinch. He just stares at Jakes, his eyes never wavering. It's as if he knows Jakes has to get this out, has to shout himself senseless, has to do  _ something _ other than just sit here.

“That’s why I asked for him, you know? As my bagman? Thought I could do him some bloody good, keep him from coming home black and blue all the time.” Jakes clenches his hands into fists. “What happens instead? Some prick I put away decides to come back and take his revenge on  _ my bagman. _ God, Max--he didn’t even  _ know. _ About us. He didn’t  _ know. _ He just picked Morse because he was my  _ bagman. _ ”

DeBryn doesn’t say anything, just lays his hand on Jakes’ arm.

Just like that, the fight melts out of him. He shakes his head, ashamed. “I’m sorry, Max.”

“You’re not the first Inspector I’ve seen play this game, you know.”

Jakes peers at him from the corner of his eye. “I doubt any of them were sleeping with their bagman, though.”

A small smile tugs at DeBryn’s lips. “No, I suppose not. But the burden they share is similar.” His face sobers. “And you’re not the first I’ve sat with who’s waiting for news on someone they aren’t supposed to care about.”

“I thought it would get easier.” Jakes’ voice is small, so small he hardly recognizes it as his own. All of it--the waiting, trying to find him, trying to keep him alive.” He huffs a dark laugh. “I thought he’d stop ending up here, like this. Thought he’d stop trying to die on me.”

“That would be like asking him to stop being Endeavour Morse.”

Jakes has to smile at that, even if it’s only a weak smile.

“It doesn’t get easier, though, does it?” DeBryn is studying him, and Jakes gets the feeling the question is more for his benefit than any actual curiosity on the part of the doctor.

“It’s gotten harder.” He stares at his hands for a moment, until a memory--unwanted and unbidden--crashes into him. “I remember...when Thursday first found out. About us. Dev had been...the Matthews’...oh, God, it was awful.” He pauses, trying to choke back that old fear--still almost as fresh as that awful day. “Thursday asked me--before we came into the hospital, he asked me what my intentions were. With Dev.” Jakes shakes his head. “As if...as if I’d just...toss him aside.”

_ Toss him aside, to leave him floating facedown in a freezing lake. _

Jakes digs his fists into his eyes, trying to scrub away that image. His voice is thick with unshed tears when he speaks again.

“I told him...I told him Dev was my everything.” He looks up at DeBryn. “Then. However long ago that was, Max. I thought...I thought he meant that much to me then.” The tears escape him, then, and Jakes doesn’t really care anymore. “He’s...he’s so much more now. Max, how do I...what if he... _ Max.” _

There’s no judgement in DeBryn’s eyes, none of his usual dry wit or frustration--only a compassion that Jakes rarely gets to see.

“He’s stubborn, Peter. More so than you give him credit for, I’d guess.” DeBryn cracks a small grin. “Has to be, to hang on to you this long.”

Jakes smiles in spite of himself at that. “I suppose. He just...Max...it’s been  _ ten years. _ Ten years that we’ve been...whatever it is that we are.” He drops his head to his hands. 

DeBryn’s hand moves to Jakes’ shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, just listens. Jakes’ is grateful for that, for his steady presence, for someone to listen to him, for someone to  _ know _ .

“He means more to me than... _ anything,”  _ Jakes murmurs. “I don’t know who I am anymore, without him there somewhere.”

They sit in silence for a while, each lost somewhere in their own thoughts and memories and fears. Jakes can’t get those images of Morse out of his head--Morse’s hair floating lazily in the water, Morse’s still body lying in the snow, Morse’s tear-stained face as he tried so desperately to stay awake.

Jakes doesn’t know how much time has passed, but suddenly DeBryn shifts next to him. The hand at his shoulder tenses, and Jakes jerks his head up. 

“Max?”

“The doctor’s here.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: A character we've never seen before, but of whom we've heard a lot. *mischievous grin*
> 
> Thank you all for your comments <3 You legit make these dark days so much brighter!


	3. How Could We End it all This Way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three updates from me in one day? What is this madness?
> 
> I'll tell you what it is-- _quarantine._
> 
> Enjoy!

Jakes turns, and immediately freezes. He’s not sure what sort of stern-faced doctor he was expecting, but he knows it isn’t _this._ Some morose, grizzled man or a gaunt spectre of death might be better fitting to the fear that coursed through his veins. But this? No.

Jakes isn’t expecting the nut-brown hair that’s been swept up into a soft bun, framing a kind, feminine face. The cheery floral blouse that peeks out from under her white coat seems out of place in the drab waiting room. The compassionate expression on her face would be better fitting to a children’s ward than this haven of trauma and fear.

He shouldn’t be surprised, he knows there’s more women doctors these days, he just hadn’t expected one here, now. In all honesty, it’s the serenity surrounding her that throws him far more than the fact that she’s a woman. She walks towards him with a calmness that he doesn’t feel; she appears unphased by whatever news she carries. 

Her eyes flick between him and DeBryn, questioning. Jakes tenses for the inevitable. He’s Morse’s emergency contact, has been for a while now. They usually pass it off as two lonely blokes, just roommates, depending on each other because there’s no one else. It’s not a lie. It’s also not the truth, and from the expression on the doctor’s face, Jakes knows she’s suspicious.

He can hardly blame her, he’s not doing a good job of hiding it. He should be able to hide it better by now, should be used to the worried friend routine; he’s done this enough. But this is the closest he’s come to losing Morse in quite a while, and he knows he’s still shaking with the fear of it. He knows it's written plainly on his face and in the way he jumps to his feet. He knows he can’t hide, not right now, not like this, not when he still doesn’t _know._

So when the doctor’s eyes settle on him, taking in his rumpled clothes, disheveled hair, and the aura of fear that he knows he’s projecting, Jakes steels himself for her judgement. She could throw him out, he knows, or refuse to tell him anything. He hopes she won’t, hopes she won’t take this out on Morse, hopes she’ll just _tell him._

Her eyes narrow for a moment, then flick down to the chart in her hands. Her brow furrows, and Jakes’ breath catches in his chest.

“Detective Inspector Jakes?” She’s staring at him now, all traces of confusion gone.

He nods, and her smile deepens into something... _friendly?_ She steps forward, holding out her hand.

“Dr. Edith Wyndham. I’m DS Morse’s attending physician.”

Something prickles in the back of Jakes’ mind--there’s something familiar about that name, something wrapped in memories of hospitals and blood and hushed voices and fear and _Morse._ He can’t focus on that now, not when this doctor knows...

“How is he?”

“He was severely hypothermic,” Dr. Wyndham begins, her voice soft. It’s too gentle, and Jakes feels fear tear through him. “A few more minutes in the cold, and I’m not sure there would have been much we could do.” Her gaze shifts to DeBryn, and Jakes can’t breathe for the fear that Morse is _gone_. “You two did well. You saved his life.”

Jakes doesn’t even realize his vision has gone blurry until he feels DeBryn’s fingers at this collar.

“Jakes? Peter, can you hear me?” DeBryn’s concerned face is blurry.

Jakes blinks quickly and sucks in a deep breath. “Max?”

DeBryn and Dr. Wyndham are hovering over him, both looking worried. Jakes curls his hand against the cool wood under him, trying to ground himself. _Chair,_ he’s in a chair. He must have blacked out for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Wyndham hands him a cup of water. Her dark eyes are full of an understanding that Jakes can’t process right now. “I didn’t realize no one had updated you. I should have--”

Jakes shakes his head. “No...it’s...I’m alright. I just...I just…” He can’t get the words out. He’s trying to cover, trying to act normal, but he’s so afraid. “He’s...he’s my bagman, and…”

“Inspector.” Dr. Wyndham is crouching down next to him, her strong hand covering Jakes’ trembling one. “It’s alright. I understand.” 

The way she looks at him makes Jakes think, for just a moment, that she _does._

Jakes shakes his head, because she _can’t_ understand. But he doesn’t care, he needs to know-- he’s not sure that he can stand another moment of not knowing.

“Tell me, please.”

“I expect him to recover.” She stares at him solemnly, waiting for him to breathe again. “He’s got an uphill climb ahead of him-- we haven’t been able to get his temperature back to where it should be yet and there’s still a threat of pneumonia.” Her hand tightens on his. “The important thing is that you got to him in time, and you kept him awake. He’s in the best care possible, I promise you.”

Jakes nods. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to keep the tears from falling. It’s too much information, too many variables. He can only cling to her first words-- _expected to recover._

He tries to reconcile those words with the last image he has of Morse--terrified and confused, reaching out for Jakes. He can’t do it. He can still feel that marble-cold skin under his fingers, still hear Morse’s terrified face as they pulled him away. If only he could see Morse--just for a moment, just to know and see for himself. If he could just erase those images, replace them with something more hopeful, he might be able to calm down.

But that’s not how any of this works. Visiting hours are over, have been for a while. Besides, even if he is Morse’s emergency contact, he isn’t family, not legally. He’s been turned away before, and he doubts he’ll be let in tonight. 

“You still with me?” Dr. Wyndham is studying him closely. He nods, glancing down at his hands “Good. Let me see if I can scrounge up some spare clothes for you, alright? Then I’ll take you to see him.”

Jakes’ head jerks up. _“What?”_

“I’d imagine you’d like to see him looking a little healthier than earlier.” She’s smiling at him, with something far too knowing in her eyes. 

Jakes glances to DeBryn, sudden fear overwhelming him. He _wants_ to see Morse, there’s not doubt of that. But he doesn't want to put the man in danger, doesn’t want to take any more risks. He’s heard stories, and even though it’s been a long while since anything went down in their patch of Oxford, the memories are still there--the old fear and distrust, the need to stay hidden.

“No--I--he--” Jakes shakes his head. “It’s…”

“Inspector.” Wyndham’s voice is soft. She waits for him to meet her eyes. “I think you’ve met a good friend of mine before, in your stays here. She’s a nurse-- Nurse Howard?”

Jakes stills. It’s been a while since the last time they saw her, but he hasn’t forgotten her. Nurse Howard--always insisting they call her Brenda--had been a godsend in those awful days after the Matthews brothers’ revenge. She had never specifically said anything, simply rearranged schedules to put sympathetic nurses in their path and warn them when a doctor was coming. She’d never chased Jakes out, never made them feel uncomfortable. They hadn’t picked up on it at first, but during their stay, Jakes and Morse had both noticed the way Brenda always referred to...

_“Edith?”_

Dr. Wyndham breaks into a smile, and Jakes _knows._

“You’re safe with me,” she murmurs. She glances up to DeBryn, as if judging his response. Whatever she sees must assure her, and she pushes herself to her feet. “I’ll see about those clothes, then.”

DeBryn raises his eyebrows as Dr. Wyndham disappears down the hall.

Jakes scrubs his hands over his face, taking a deep breath. He needs to settle himself, just for a moment, needs to let the fear subside. Finally, he glances up at DeBryn.

“Nurse Howard--Brenda, she likes to be called--she’s been Dev’s nurse a few times. Especially when...after...after Cole Matthews.” Jakes’ voice breaks on the memory, and he knows he’s far too tired for any of this. “She’s always been kind to us--too kind, Max. It was as if...well. We figured it out eventually. She’s like us, Max. Like you, and me, and Dev.” He has to laugh at the incredulous look on DeBryn’s face. “She’s always talking about _her Edith.”_ Jakes nods down the hallway.

DeBryn looks a bit as if one of his corpses started talking to him mid-autopsy, but he recovers quickly. 

“Well, that’s all the better then. I was afraid I’d have to use my rather limited influence to get you in the room.” He smiles wanly at Jakes’ surprised look. “How long have I known, Jakes? Long enough to know you won’t rest without him, and he’s likely to hurt himself more if you aren’t there when he wakes.” DeBryn shakes his head as he eases himself into a chair next to Jakes. “Bloody pair of disasters you two are.”

* * *

Walking into Morse’s hospital room never gets easier, for all the times he’s done it. Jakes is grateful that both doctors hang back at the doorway, discussing who knows what in hushed tones. He needs the privacy, craves it--just a few moments to take in the sight in front of him, a few seconds to be vulnerable and open.

Morse looks so small, buried as he is under layers of blankets. His skin no longer has that deathly, waxy sheen to it and his hair has dried in the usual messy waves. There’s a touch of color on his cheeks and on his lips. The monitor next to him chirps out the steady, _strong_ rhythm of his heart while another machine slowly feeds fluids into him.

Jakes pads to the edge of the bed and takes a moment just to stare down at him, to drink in the fact that Morse is still alive. He can’t stop himself from reaching out to brush back a few of those curls from Morse’s forehead, nor can he stop his fingers from skimming over the bandage over his temple. Quincy had hit him hard, and Jakes’ blood seethes with anger at the evidence of violence done.

It all catches up to him then, in that dim, quiet room--all the fear and adrenaline and desperate race to save Morse. He’s done now, done his part, done what he can, and his body knows. Jakes barely manages to catch hold of one of the chairs before his legs give out, barely manages to control his descent. He sits there, elbows resting on knees as he catches his breath. 

Morse isn’t out of the woods yet, not quite-- Dr. Wyndham had mentioned a pneumonia risk, and a body temperature that wasn’t quite what it should be-- but he’s so much closer to life than death now. If there’s one thing this job--hell, this _life--_ has taught Jakes, it’s to take joy in the little blessings; you may not survive to see the big ones. Morse is alive and safe, and Jakes is here with him. That’s enough--that’s more than enough for him.

Jakes glances over his shoulder, grateful to find DeBryn and Wyndham in deep conversation. He’s got a few more minutes, then, before she chases him out. He leans forward, fumbling a bit with the mound of blankets on Morse. Finally he manages to sneak his hand underneath them all and find Morse’s still hand. Jakes slips his fingers through Morse’s and rubs his thumb across the back of Morse’s knuckles.

“I’m right here, Dev,” he whispers. He’s no idea if Morse can hear him, but he’s not taking any chances. The man has never gotten over his dislike of hospitals and more often than not wakes up combative and frightened. If Jakes can’t be here when he wakes, at least he can try to soothe him now. “You’re safe, alright? No one’s going to hurt you.” 

Jakes runs his fingers through Morse’s hair again, half in hopes of waking Morse, and half in an effort to calm himself. He’s still shaking, his body still trying to come down from the adrenaline of the past hours. He needs this now, this contact with Morse, to ground him. It’s an old habit now, but one that’s so ingrained that he’s not sure how he would have gone on if Morse had been taken from him today. 

Touch has always soothed him, calmed the storms in his soul and kept his demons at bay. It used to be a casual shag here and there, or fingers running over a new suit, but somewhere in the past ten years it became _Morse_ more than anything else. Morse’s hands on his back when he woke from a nightmare, Morse’s hand in his while they ate, Morse’s fingers in his hair while he drifted off to sleep, Morse’s skin under his fingers when he couldn’t think straight--just _Morse._

He knows he’ll have to walk away soon, knows he’ll have to try and find some way to sleep tonight--without Morse and _with_ this uneasy fear still flowing through his veins. So he reminds himself of Morse’s presence while he can, notes the softness of his curls, the still-too-cool feel of his skin, the chapped edges of his hands. He memorizes the way Morse looks now, tries to scratch out the way he looked in the back of DeBryn’s car. He watches the way Morse’s chest rises and falls easily now, not laboured and ragged. He stares at the peaceful expression on Morse’s face and tries to take comfort in the fact that _he is safe._

It’s not enough, but it has to be, because he can hear Wyndham and DeBryn moving closer. Jakes sets his face, tries to look less of a mess than he is, and turns to them. Wyndham smiles at him and moves to check the monitor. Max simply stands at the end of the bed and casts a knowing eye over Morse’s still form.

Wyndham is done all too soon, and Jakes can sense the shift in the room. He has to leave now, has to walk away and try to make some sense of the evening, try to get rest, try and act like he didn’t almost lose Morse. God, he’s so tired of playing these games.

He squeezes Morse’s hand once more. He doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want to walk away. But he’s grateful for these moments, short as they are, and he has to try and tell Dr. Wyndham.

“Thank you,” he manages to whisper.

She pauses on the far side of the bed. “Pardon?”

Jakes clears his throat and tries again. “Thank you. For...for letting me see him.” _Dammit,_ there are tears in his eyes again. “I needed...I needed to know…” He can’t finish.

“Inspector Jakes.” Wyndham’s voice is closer now, and he starts at the feel of her hand on his shoulder. “I’m not asking you to leave.”

His head jerks up too quickly, and he has to take a deep breath to steady the spinning of the room.

_“What?”_

“Visiting hours are designed for the wellbeing of the patient, Inspector, to protect them from well-meaning friends and relatives who can overstay their welcome.” She smiles at him again, and there’s something so gentle in the way she looks at him. It wraps around his soul, soothing down the raw edges of today’s grief. “But sometimes a patient needs their family with them.” She glances over her shoulder at DeBryn. “From what doctor DeBryn tells me, he’s not too keen on hospitals?”

Jakes shakes his head. “No. Hates them, in fact.”

“I’m a physician, which means I will do whatever needs to be done to save my patient and ensure their recovery. I don’t want to have to sedate him, should he be upset when he wakes. His body had enough stress for one day.” Her fingers tap gently on Jakes’ arm, the one that’s snuck under the blankets to hold onto Morse. “If this keeps him grounded? And you as well? I’ve no objection.”

“I don’t…” Jakes stares at her blankly. “You’ll...you’ll let me stay? I’m...but I’m…”

“You’re what he needs.” She squeezes his arm gently. “I told you, Inspector, I _understand.”_

“I can’t... _God,_ thank you.”

“Keep him calm, that’s all I ask.” She walks away, rummaging in a cupboard for a moment before returning to drape a blanket over his shoulders. “Keep him calm, and try and get some rest yourself. I’ve about as good a pull down here as Brenda does on her floor. I’ll make sure his nurses understand.”

“Thank you.” It’s all he can say, all he can repeat, but from the smile still on her face, it must be enough.

* * *

Jakes stays there, one hand wrapped around Morse’s wrist and the other on his forehead, long after the two doctors leave them. He doesn’t quite want to move--as if moving would shatter this fragile moment in which Morse is alive. It’s superstition, and Morse would laugh at him if he were awake, but Jakes can’t bring himself to tempt fate. Right here, right now, he has a grip on Morse. He’s afraid if he lets go, he might lose Morse.

He’s exhausted, and that’s playing into this irrational fear. He should sleep, or at least try to relax. But relaxing would mean losing touch with Morse, dropping his guard, not being _ready--_ and he has to know, has to see Morse’s chest rise and fall. Besides, what if Morse wakes up and Jakes isn’t there at his side? Wyndham knew--Morse can be a terror if he wakes in hospital with no one he knows anywhere near. 

Jakes knows what he _wants_ to do. He wants to pull aside these layers of heated blankets and crawl in next to Morse. He wants to wrap his arms around Morse, feel Morse’s heartbeat under his fingers, feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. He wants to lend Morse some of his own body heat, feel Morse’s too-cool skin come alive again. He wants to tangle their legs together until Morse can’t escape. He wants to bury his face in Morse’s neck, breathe him in, _hold him_ until he’s well again.

He can’t. They aren’t at home, and they run the risk of being found out. Dr. Wyndham promised to find nurses that wouldn’t chase him out on sight, but he’s not sure what they would do if they found him wrapped around Morse. Knowing it’s a bad idea doesn’t stop him from _wanting._

Jakes had learned early on that the only time he could truly relax--truly trust that Morse was safe--was when he had the man in his arms. If Morse wasn’t there within reach, there was no telling where he might be, what kind of trouble he could get into. A whiskey bottle and broken memories has been enough to almost take Morse from him in the past, and Jakes has never quite recovered from that awful night.

Jakes runs his fingers through Morse’s hair, trying to push aside all the times he’s almost lost Morse. This is just another one, he tells himself, another story for the files. This isn’t the last story, this isn’t the end. His thumb rubs circles on the back of Morse’s hand, though whether the motion is intended to calm Morse or himself, Jakes isn’t sure. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

If this is all he does tonight--sit here and _watch_ and _touch_ \-- it will be enough. It’s far more than he thought he would end this day with. This is a gift he’s been given, and he has no intention of letting it slip by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay but also?
> 
> I just realized that I posted my very first fic ever exactly one year and 5 days ago. I marched forth into the Endeavour AO3 tag a year ago, and bared my imagination to the world. I have no regrets.
> 
> Thanks for a great year, y'all. It's truly been a blessing to share with you and learn from you and make friends along the way. <3


	4. The Biggest Part of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So about this update that's very over due....
> 
> Online teaching started this week, and nearly killed me. Hopefully this is worth the wait.

It’s because he’s watching Morse so closely that Jakes catches the first twitch of Morse’s eyes, the first uneven hitch in his breathing. The movements are subtle at first, but gather strength as Morse pulls himself to consciousness. Within moments, Morse goes from deathly still to dangerously agitated. 

Jakes stands, sliding one hand to cup Morse’s cheek.

“Morse? Dev, you’re alright. It’s Peter. You’re safe.” He’s done this enough times before, coaxing Morse back to the realm of the living, and he knows how it goes. He knows how to keep Morse calm, how to get his attention, how to stop this fretful tossing and turning before Morse has a chance to injure himself more. Jakes rubs his thumb gently along Morse’s jawline and tightens his grip on Morse’s wrist. “I’m right here, Dev. Can you...can you open your eyes for me?”

It takes a few more seconds, but finally Morse stills. Jakes can see from the way his eyes have stopped moving that he’s awake and trying to make sense of what’s around him.

“It’s just me, Dev, just Peter. You’re alright.”

Morse’s lips move silently, but Jakes can read them all the same:  _ Peter. _ His head rocks to the side, pressing into the steady pressure of Jakes’ hand. Jakes can’t stop the smile that motion pulls from him--he can never get over the way Morse just  _ knows _ that Jakes’ presence means safety.

Then finally-- _ finally-- _ those eyes flutter open. 

It takes Morse a moment to focus in on Jakes’ face, but a tired smile spreads slowly over his face once he does.

_ “Peter,”  _ he breathes.

Jakes has to blink away the tears that suddenly sting at his eyes.

“That’s right, luv. I’m right here.”

Morse’s eyes roam the room for a moment, and Jakes can see confusion in his expression. Then those cold fingers twitch against Jakes’ hand, and he tightens his grip.  _ I’ve got you. _

“You’re safe, Dev, I promise.”

“Where...where’m I?” Morse’s gaze is still searching the room, suspicious.

“In hospital.”

Morse’s eyes snap back to Jakes, fear flashing across his face.

_ “Quincy.” _

“Not here, Dev. He’s...he’s gone.” God, he wishes he could say the man was dead, but he’s not. They aren’t even sure where he is, but there’s guards outside the ward who will make  _ damn sure _ Quincy won’t get near Morse tonight. “He’s not going to hurt you.” 

Morse stares at Jakes. “You’re okay?”

Jakes huffs. “I’d be better if you hadn’t nearly died on me.” His fingers dance over Morse’s face, grateful instead of desperate.

“I tried...t’ hang on.” Morse is still staring at him, eyes clearly asking  _ did I make it? _

Jakes can’t stop the slight sob that escapes him, no more than he can stop himself from pressing his lips gently to Morse’s.

“You did, Endeavour. You did.” He stays there, hovering just above Morse. He lets his fingers brush through Morse’s hair, lets his heart take comfort in the way Morse leans in to the touch. “God, you had me worried.”

Morse’s eyes flutter closed. “‘m still here.” He takes a deep breath, and then he’s looking at Jakes again. “Too stubborn to die yet.” 

Jakes has to laugh at that, despite the exhaustion in his bones. “And thank God for that.” He kisses Morse again, lets the feel of Morse’s warm lips against his own erase the memories of the cold and the fear.

Morse’s breath hitches unexpectedly, and Jakes pulls back.

“Dev?” Morse’s eyes are closed--squeezed shut-- and the way his forehead has creased worries Jakes. “Dev, what’s wrong?”

Morse swallows and shakes his head slightly. “‘m fine.” He sucks in a deep breath, and finally looks back at Jakes. “I’m okay.”

“Bullshit.” Jakes strokes his fingers across the creases in Morse’s forehead. “You nearly died.”

“I’m aware.” 

There’s an edge to Morse’s words-- a touch of frustration that warms the frigid parts of Jakes’ soul. Morse is coming back, that fire starting to creep back into his eyes. But there’s something else in those crystal depths, something Jakes doesn’t like the looks of. 

Jakes squeezes Morse’s hand. “Dev. Talk to me.”

Morse stares at him for a moment, clearly calculating the risks and rewards of admitting to whatever is bothering him. Jakes huffs. The man is only just barely back from the edges of hell and already he’s trying to pull back into his shell.

“I’m...I’m alright, Peter.” Morse’s fingers curl around Jakes’, warm and strong. “Promise.”

He’s not, though. Jakes can see the truth of it in the way his eyes flick over Jakes’ shoulder at the sound of shoes in the hallway. He can read it in the still too-cool feel of Morse’s skin under his hands and the way his freckles stand out against pasty skin. He wants to be alright, wants to be the invincible Morse, but he’s not.

“Dev.” Jakes fingers skim across Morse’s curls again.

He doesn’t expect the way Morse jerks his head away, although maybe he should have. Morse is unpredictable when he’s been hurt. He can pull into himself to lick his wounds, or strike out like a wild animal. 

“Peter.” The word comes out as a growl. “I said I’m fine.”

“You’re rather emphatically not, Morse.” Jakes pulls back, trying to give the man room to breathe. He didn’t want to; he wanted to pull Morse closer, to wrap his arms around him and just  _ hold him. _

It’s always been the hardest part of  _ them-- _ Morse’s desire to pull back versus Jakes’ need to keep him close. Morse never wanted to be coddled or babied, as he saw it, and Jakes never wanted him to feel alone. Jakes had gotten used to the arguments over the years, learned how to find his way around them gracefully.

He didn’t have the energy tonight for grace. When Morse tries to tug his hand out of Jakes’ grip, Jakes only tightens his fingers.

“Let me go,” Morse hisses.

“Dev--”

“Peter, I’m fine.” Morse presses his lips together into a tight line. “I’m...I’m right here, okay? I’m not...I’m not  _ going _ anywhere.”

“Morse, you’re barely even at a normal human temperature. You--”

“For God’s sake, Peter. Leave me alone.” Morse manages to wrench his hand free. He rolls away from Jakes, fighting weakly with the tangle of blankets trapping him.

“No.” Jakes’ voice is quiet but firm. He won’t antagonize Morse, not intentionally, but he’s not going anywhere. 

“Peter.” Morse’s voice is hoarse, the whispered word grating across a throat raw from retching up cold water. “Let me breathe.”

Jakes’ hand closes over Morse’s shoulder, trying to still Morse as he half-heartedly pokes at the blankets. 

“Dev, just--”

Morse lashes out, his arm coming free of the blankets in a movement that throws him off balance. 

“Stop!” There’s a fear in his voice that Jakes can’t understand. “Dammit, Peter. I’m just...I need... _ fuck.” _ He’s tearing at the blankets in earnest now, though his movements are weak and uncoordinated. “Stupid, stupid,  _ stupid.  _ I need...out...I need out--”

Morse is muttering to himself, frantically trying to free himself. Jakes isn’t sure if he’s delirious again, but nothing he does seems to be calming Morse.

Somehow, Morse manages to get his legs off the side of the bed. Jakes reaches out to lay a hand on Morse’s arm--to stop him or steady him--but Morse shrugs him off angrily.

“Get off, Peter!” Morse heaves himself off the bed stumbling across the room before Jakes can react. 

Jakes chases after him. “Morse, what the hell are you--”

Morse snarls, turning to push Jakes away. “Get off me, Peter. Get your--- _ get away from me.” _ The anger in his voice makes Jakes freeze.

Morse stands there, eyes wide and wild as he glares at Jakes. His hands are held out in front of him, as if he’s trying to keep Jakes away.

“Stop. I just...I need... _ damn it. _ ” He curses, turning and stumbling into the table. He nearly falls, but somehow manages to catch himself. His fingers wrap around the edge of the table, and he stands there, chest heaving.

Jakes takes a tentative step forward.

“Give me space, Peter.” Morse growls. “Just...give me space.” He snaps his mouth shut, turning his head away from Jakes. Jakes can see his throat working, fighting a losing battle against whatever emotions are running through him.

Jakes holds his hands up in a gesture of peace. “Alright. Alright, I’ll stay back. I just...I don’t want you to fall.” He takes a slow step. “Can I just...can I come a little closer?”

Morse stares at him for a long moment before nodding curtly. “Don’t touch me.”

It hurts him to agree, when all Jakes wants to do is pull Morse close to him, but this is what Morse needs. Something triggered him, pulled him back to those lost hours when Quincy had him. Jakes knows the signs, he’s been on the other end of flashbacks so vivid you can’t tell where reality begins and ends. 

He curses himself-- he should have seen it sooner. He should know Morse’s tells by now, should know when he needs space. But he was too caught up in his own fear, too lost in his own needs to see the raw edges Morse was trying to hide. Jakes comes to a stop within arms reach of Morse--close enough to catch him should the trembling in his body get worse, but far enough away to allow him to breathe. 

They stand there for a moment, the only sound in the room that of Morse’s harsh breathing. Jakes has to force himself to stand still. Morse isn’t well. He’s starting to shiver, and the way his chest is heaving can’t be good. But the man is a live wire right now, and Jakes is afraid of how he’ll react if he pushes too far. 

Finally, after what seems like an eternity to Jakes, Morse takes a deep breath. 

“The blankets,” he mutters. “Suffocating.” He shakes his head, as if chasing off a pesky fly. “Ropes were tight.” 

Jakes is certain he wasn’t meant to hear that last part, so he tries not to respond. The words send anger racing through him anyhow.

“‘m sorry, Peter.” Morse refuses to look up at Jakes. 

“Dev. You need...you shouldn’t be up.” Jakes keeps his voice low, his words as gentle as possible. “Your body needs rest.”

Morse swallows harshly. “I couldn’t move.  _ Damn it.” _ He’s trembling in earnest now.

Jakes takes a half step forward. “Dev?”

Morse glances at him from the corner of his eye. “I’m…” he sucks in a deep breath, and Jakes pretends not to notice the wheeze in his lungs. “I’m alright.” He pauses, seems to suddenly realize where he is. “I’m...I’m alright.” He says it as if he’s shocked to discover that he  _ is. _ “I really...am.”

He stares at Jakes for a moment, clearly trying to process everything, all at once. Jakes raises an eyebrow in gentle reproof. Morse’s shoulders sag. He nods, reaching out a trembling hand towards Jakes. Jakes knows it’s a peace offering, the only kind of olive branch that Morse knows how to extend. He steps forward, tangling their fingers together. He tries not to crowd Morse, gives him room to breathe, even though he’d much rather pull him close.

They stand like that for what feels like an eternity. Morse needs to sit down, needs to get back into the warm cocoon of blankets and heating pads. His fingers are too cold, and Jakes isn’t sure how much of the trembling is due to fatigue, and how much is due to cold.

“Dev.” Jakes curls his free hand around Morse’s arm. Morse’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t respond. “Endeavour. Look at me, please.”

Morse squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. For a moment, Jakes thinks the man’s going to ignore him. But then his grip on Jakes’ hand tightens, and he turns to look at Jakes.

“Oh, Dev,” Jakes whispers. Because there are tears in Morse’s eyes, tears he’s clearly trying to hide. Jakes brushes a thumb under Morse’s eye, catching the falling tears. “It’s okay to be afraid. I was.”

“Of course you were.” Morse is clearly going for sarcastic, but the gravel in his voice and moisture on his cheeks rather ruins the effect. “No one else likes your cooking.” 

Jakes glares at him. “Dev.”

Morse quirks a wobbly smile. “You had a bit more to lose. I was just…” His voice catches, and Morse clears his throat. When he starts again, he isn’t looking at Jakes. “I was just afraid you’d...you’d never know where I hid that pack of smokes.”

He’s hiding, like he always does--hiding behind old jokes and metaphors and that damned  _ I’m fine. _ He’s asking Jakes to read between the lines, fill in the blanks with the bits he knows after years of this routine. And Jakes  _ can-- _ he knows what Morse is really trying to say. 

But this time was too close--the first time they’ve come this close in a long while--and Jakes’ can’t pretend anymore. He’s exhausted, and so is Morse. They can’t --  _ shouldn’t --  _ shrug this off, can’t plaster it up behind cigarettes and cracks at his culinary skills. 

This is  _ Morse _ , this is his  _ everything _ and he almost lost him.

“No.” Jakes shakes his head. “Stop it, Dev.” It comes out harsher than he means, and Morse flinches. “We’re not--no,  _ you’re _ not doing this. Not tonight.” 

Morse goes completely still, eyeing Jakes warily. 

“Endeavour, I almost--no,  _ damn it-- _ I  _ lost _ you out there.” Jakes can’t keep the tears out of his voice. “You weren’t breathing when Max and I pulled you out of that bloody lake. Dev, you were so out of it, we didn’t think you’d make it to hospital. You didn’t even recognize Max.” His lips quirk ever so slightly at that. “Just me, thank God.”

“Peter, I--”

“No, Dev. Let me finish.” Jakes scrubs his hand over his eyes. “I haven’t...I almost  _ lost you. _ ” He needs Morse to know, needs him to understand, needs there to be no way around this. He knows there’s tears slipping down his face, and he doesn’t care. “Don’t hide from me, please.”

Another tremor shakes Morse, and he stumbles a bit. Jakes shoots out a hand to steady him.

Morse stares at him for a long moment. Then he nods his head ever so slightly. 

“No crossword clues,” he whispers. Jakes can’t hide the honest smile that pulls from him.

“Bloody well better not be. God, Dev.” Jakes brushes Morse’s hair off his forehead, his fingers lingering over the plaster covered cut hiding just under those curls. “You were hit over the head, then dragged off by a madman, and left to...left to... _ Goddamnit.” _

He shouldn’t still be this worked up, but the way Quincy left Morse there, with just enough space for him to breath  _ as long as he could crane his neck back _ was simply barbaric.

“Peter, it’s alright,” Morse whispers. He squeezes Jakes’ hand. 

“It’s not!” The anger in his own words shocks him. “It’s not alright, Dev. It’s...God, it’s not.” His eyes search Morse’s face, trying to erase the image of Morse’s marble-cold skin from his mind. “It’s not, and you’re  _ not _ alright. I can’t...I can’t pretend tonight. Please don’t make me.”

He bows his head, almost ashamed for his outburst. Morse has been through hell, and here he is making a scene. Fingers on his arms startle him, and Jakes glances up to find Morse staring at him. 

“I was afraid...afraid you’d never know how much…” Morse’s voice is soft, barely a whisper. “...how much I love you, Peter.” His eyes flutter closed, but his grip on Jakes’ arms stays strong. “I thought I’d...never get to...to tell you again.” Morse huffs. “I don’t know why that...was what I was stuck on, but…” He opens his eyes again, and stares directly at Jakes. “I...I love you, Peter.”

Jakes wants to reply--he wants to kiss the man or tell him he loves him or  _ something-- _ but Morse’s legs give out at that moment and he collapses into Jakes’ chest.

“Fuck-- _ Morse!”  _ Jakes panics, clutching desperately at Morse to keep him from falling. He’s terrified that he’s lost Morse again, that he’s slipped away into nothingness, that he’s kept him standing here too long. But there are strong fingers pressing into his shoulders and a familiar voice swearing in his ear.

Morse is clutching at him, trying to get his feet under him. There’s a drunken quality to his swearing that’s almost  _ normal _ and Jakes can’t help a ridiculous laugh that escapes him.

“You’re a mess, Endeavour,” he murmurs. He manages to get his shoulder under Morse and wrap an arm around his waist. 

Morse leans into him and huffs. “Fuck you, Peter.” 

Jakes brushes his lips over Morse’s ear. “Later,” he murmurs. “Once you’re home.”

Morse sighs. “Promise?”

Jakes rolls his eyes. “Promise.”

Morse curls his hands into Jakes’ shirt. “Peter?”

“Mmmh?”

“I think...I think I should go back to bed.”

Jakes would cuff him about the head if it wouldn’t mean also  _ dropping _ him. 

“I think that’s a good idea.”

Together, they limp across the room and back to the bed. A part of Jakes wonders if he should have bullied Morse back sooner, kept him from exhausting himself further. He dismisses the thought. Morse is a stubborn bastard, has to work things out his own way, in his own time. No amount of pushing or prodding would get him there faster, and there’s no chance of rest until he’s ready. These ten years have taught Jakes that, and he’s grateful that Max and Dr. Wyndham trusted him to help Morse through this.

Morse falls more than sits once he reaches the bed, and Jakes ends up tumbling after him. He tries to stand, but Morse holds him fast.

“Peter.” He’s got that look in his eyes--like a kicked puppy-- and Jakes knows he’s going to apologize for something stupid.

Jakes rolls his eyes. “Shut up, would you?”

He leans over, pressing their lips together before Morse has a chance to reply. Jakes’ fingers curve around the back of Morse’s head, pulling the man closer to him. Ten years have also taught him that sometimes words don’t make it through to Morse. He’s got too much going on in that ridiculous brain of his to listen. But this--there’s never been any way for him to misinterpret  _ this. _ Jakes makes sure of it.

He seeks Morse out with desperation, but there’s no  _ want. _ It’s the type of kiss he’d never dreamed about when he’d first pushed Morse back on that couch so long ago. Back then it was about touching and tasting and taking and  _ heat. _ This is about trust and shared memories and ridiculous arguments over  _ couch pillows. _ It’s over ten years of  _ knowing _ and the sudden fear of  _ losing. _

DS Peter Jakes could never have imagined what  _ knowing _ and  _ being known _ felt like. DI Peter Jakes was terrified to forget.

Jakes finally pulls back--Morse needs to breathe, after all--but keeps their foreheads pressed together.

“Peter?” Morse whispers.

“Mmh?”

“I’m cold.” Morse’s voice is petulant, and Jakes laughs.

“You are.” He wraps his arms around Morse. “We need to get you back under these blankets.

“Peter?”

“Yes, love?”

“I don’t...Peter, I don’t want…” He huffs in frustration. “Could you stay?” He tucks his head into Jakes’ chest. “I’d rather not...I don’t want to be alone.”

Jakes rubs soothing circles into Morse’s back. “I’m not going anywhere. The doc...it’s a long story, but the doc said I could stay.” He presses a kiss to Morse’s curls. “I won’t leave you.”

Morse hums.

“You’re freezing, Dev.” Jakes puts his hands to Morse’s shoulders and pushes him back. “And you need to sleep.”

Morse stares at him for a long moment. He glances suspiciously around the room, finally settling with a glare on the hard chair on the far side of the bed. His hand curls around Jakes’ wrist.

“That’s not comfortable.”

Jakes raises an eyebrow.

“Hold me?” Morse looks up at him--  _ through his bloody lashes--  _ and Jakes can feel his resolve crumbling.

He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t. Even if Dr. Wyndham promised sympathetic nurses, this is still a hospital and he’s still here after visiting hours. There’s probably a dozen or so other reasons, but none of them really matter, not when Morse is looking at him like  _ that. _

“‘t’s the other thing I was afraid of.” Morse murmurs. “That I’d never…never get…” He huffs, frustrated, and Jakes takes pity on him.

“Me too, Dev.” Jakes gives him a gentle smile. “God, I wanted to hold you again.”

“Then…”

“Morse, we’re in hospital.” He doesn’t know why he’s protesting. They both know how this ends.

“You’re  _ warm,”  _ Morse whines, tugging Jakes closer.

Jakes rolls his eyes. “Alright, move over.”

It takes a moment for the two of them to wrangle the mound of blankets into place, but they manage it somehow. 

Jakes turns himself towards Morse, reaching to pull him closer. “I’m here, Dev.”

He didn’t need to say it. Like a cat seeking sunshine, Morse slides over to Jakes. He curls his body around Jakes, tangling their legs together and burying his face in Jakes’ chest. He mutters something incomprehensible, but Jakes doesn't need to hear the words to understand.

“I’m right here, Dev.” Jakes wraps his arms around Morse, pulls the man as close to him as possible. He drops his face to rest alongside Morse’s ear. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“Warm.” That bit Jakes can make out, as Morse turns his head just enough to let the word out. 

Jakes laughs--a real, honest laugh. “Warmer than you, at any rate.”

Morse makes an affirmative noise and burrows closer. 

Jakes can feel the tension in his own shoulders ebbing away ever so slightly. Morse, however, is a different story.

“God, Morse, you’re tense.” Jakes runs his hand up Morse’s back.

Morse grumbles something into Jake’s chest. When Jakes pokes at him, he glares up at Jakes. “Thought you said it was okay to be scared.”

Jakes presses his lips to Morse’s forehead. “I’ve got you.” Morse tucks his head back into Jakes’ chest. “You’re safe now.”

Morse turns his head slightly, so Jakes can make out his answer. “I know.” He hesitates for a second, before adding, “Thank you.”

There’s nothing really to be said to that, so Jakes just shushes him and lets Morse burrow into the blankets again. The stillness settles over them, but it’s not an unfriendly quiet. Jakes can feel Morse’s chest expanding regularly, can hear his whispered breaths. It’s not home, not their bed nor their safe haven, but it’s  _ Morse-- _ and wherever Morse is, Jakes knows the best part of his life is there too.

“I love you,” Jakes whispers into Morse’s ear.

Morse doesn’t reply, not out loud. But the way he tucks his head more firmly into Jakes’ chest is answer enough. 

_ I love you.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may tack on another chapter of pure, unadulterated, tooth-rotting fluff. I had a few cute scenes planned for this chapter, but then Morse decided to go and have a panic attack on me (and poor Jakes). 
> 
> Hope y'all are staying safe and healthy and marginally sane. I'm...well, I'm still here, so that's something. :) <3 Love you all!
> 
> (How...how did this end up at nearly _fifteen thousand words?_ How do I do this? It's not on purpose. What the everloving _heck._

**Author's Note:**

> Let it be known that this story is due to a six word, half-baked prompt that guardianoffun sent me one night. How in the _hell_ it grew to this is anyone's guess.
> 
> Story & chapter titles based on [ If You Leave Me Now ](https://youtu.be/-9_d-sFhmRM) by Chicago. I had a lot of fun with this story, with the middle-aged men still in love concept. Many thanks to guardianoffun for helping me bridge Morse's character between Endeavour and Inspector Morse.
> 
> I'd love to hear from you! I apologize in advance if I don't reply--my brain sometimes forgets to add "reply to comments" to its to-do list--but know that I see your comment, smile madly at it, and probably re-read it thrice over.


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